Flower for The Dead and Dying
by SylphinesBane
Summary: What ever happened to the Precursor Box that Arno's father had taken from him upon his death by the hands of Shay?


Replacing the flowers at her gravestone had become a weekly ritual. Like her, they wilted and died before my eyes, but unlike her, they could be replaced. It was something that I needed to do, not for her but for myself. I choose to remember her, _her_ ; the only woman who had ever mattered, the only one I could not save. She never wanted saving and I suppose the want outweighed the need. The flowers I sacrificed weekly in her memory seemed a pathetic road to redemption, for you see I blamed myself for her death. You could tell me time and time again that it was her fault; she craved revenge as much as I craved her love and when it comes to revenge, there is never just one grave. The bodies we two left in our course for vengeance were many, but the only heart that died was my own. I lost my mentor, my surrogate father, my Brotherhood and her. None of the other casualties would have mattered if she had lingered to help put me back together, if she had just burned a little longer to light the way in the darkness I stumbled through. She was snuffed out right in front of me; if I had just been faster, if she had just waited…I smile bitterly here because Elise was never one to wait…

Not long after her death, the fall of Germain, and my self-imposed exile with Elise's friends, the Brotherhood had smacked away the wine bottle from the grief that longed to drown in it and all but dragged me to my feet. It was all a public show though, as if they had wanted to prove to any gossiping Templars that I still belonged to the Assassins. Once I was concealed safely behind secret doors, they had paraded me in front of what was left of my former Brotherhood, that though I had fallen far I had still remained an Assassin, fundamentally at heart. I suppose it was true, when left with nothing my survival instinct had kept me alive, but as for anything to do with my heart; it served no other purpose than to beat to keep me among the living. A stranger dressed in the traditional colors of our Creed had been among the spectators when I was returned to the fold of beaked hoods and hidden blades. He stood slightly apart from the small crowd but a familiar face lingered in his shadow and would occasionally rise on the balls of his feet so that his words would reach the taller man's ear. I had filed them away at the moment, knowing their presence was something I would need to remember later as I was reindoctrinated into the Brotherhood. The liquor was bled from my body with vigorous exercises and her memory bandaged with a mind kept busy at the relearning of skills and targets to stalk, interrogate, and assassinate. My title was returned to me and I was promoted, given the rank of Master for my work in undermining the Templars when my brothers had ignored me and cast me out. It all felt so hollow, as though I had nothing better to do then be an Assassin…which I didn't. It did feel good to be back with the familiar, but the reason I began my journey with the Assassins no longer existed, I needed to find a new reason, and the white robed Assassin was there to give it to me.

His name was Connor and he knew not a word of my language and I barely knew a word of his. The familiar face was his translator, just another Assassin I had seen enough times that I knew his face but not the name that went along with it. Connor had been following a trail that his former mentor had long abandoned, but one Connor had felt obligated to complete. His mentor was a man dead now, but he had once been the leader of the Assassins in the Colonies before betrayal had given them all to the ground and he into hiding. Connor had found a memoir of sorts that spoke of man named Shay that had fled to the open arms of our blood-feud enemies for reasons that seemed trivial and childish. I knew without the assistance of the translator, when Connor spoke of Those Who Came Before and their artifacts, especially when he pointed to the blade upon my hip. I quickly halted any further discussion and ushered the two men into my private apartments above Le Café Theatre.

The translator (whose name I discovered was Alexandre), seemed aghast when Connor spoke at length about this Shay and how he killed almost all the American Assassins, including a man who had been close friends with his very grandfather, a famous pirate in his day. Connor had no qualms about stating his father had been a Templar and had known this man Shay quite intimately. His lack of fear in divulging these facts to me, made it clear that he knew my own background well, especially when he expressed sympathy (which seemed a bit begrudgingly) toward my own recent loss. Shay had abandoned the Assassins when he falsely believed that such artifacts like the one I fought with daily, were used on purpose against innocents. So quickly did he seem to have forgotten that we never harm the innocent and I nearly laughed when Alexandre translated the words back to me, while Connor remained impassive throughout the conversation. Connor had found evidence that Shay had traveled to France in the past and might have been using our Revolution to hide amid the chaos. Truly the man was either long dead or quite old at this point and I did not entirely see Connor's reasoning for traveling so far just to kill an elderly man. Only when I met his furious gaze did I understand: justice and revenge boiled there hiding beneath a murderous wolf dressed in the pure white of an innocent sheep. All he had become and all he had lost had stemmed from this Shay and he wanted my help to end him. But why me, I had asked. Connor had paused when Alexandre had posed my question to him, he seemed unsure how to phrase his answer. The translation was something to the effect of me knowing the underbelly of Paris since I had sunk to its level and knew where even the shadows hid. And then I remembered seeing two Assassins when I had been squatting in the mansion I had called home for much of my life while drowning my memories in wine. Elise's entries in her diary, when she met Jennifer Scott; it was then that I realized I knew who Connor was and that I wanted to know more. He was a link to Elise, one far removed yes but she had met his aunt and I felt my mind picking at the corner of a falsely healed scab. I informed Alexandre to tell Connor I would need time to think on the proposal, which only took me until nightfall.

Connor had been favored with the more lavish of accommodations at the Assassin Den due to his status as a guest and Master, but I had insisted he lodge with me (along with Alexandre) because his narrative intrigued me and for once since the death of Elise, I felt the awakening of purpose. Connor had planted a seed that necessitated tending and I was famished for every detail he could feed me through Alexandre. This fervor of determination overwhelmed me and I did not want the American out of my sight. Connor was patient as his every word was picked apart and spoon fed to me in French, but Alexandre tired quickly, his skills in English strained. He retired to a spare room, but Connor did not follow. He sat silently in the dwindling candlelight, as comfortable in the shadows as I was, but I could not tarry there long for the darkness was a tranquilizer and I was not yet ready for sleep. I stood and bade him follow me downstairs for some tea which he thanked me for (that much English I did understand). Some patrons lingered in the main room, lazily watching someone perform on stage. Connor studied them all as we sat in silence, but my attention was focused on him. I had never met a Native before and his own story and wealth of knowledge made me feel a child in his commanding presence. I must admit that I admired him and the trials he had endured made my own seem so inconsequential; I had lost a few close to me while he had lost everyone. He was an alien in a world that his people had established; seen as a foreign body to be extinguished and expelled. His own father a Templar that he himself assassinated, while Bellac had merely been a cancerous growth I had amputated. The displacement of his youth and the rape of his people was something I could never imagine much less relate to, but he was a Brother and I had hoped that knowledge would bring him some sense of peace. Do not think I felt sorry for him, I merely acknowledged that his life has not been easy and I pining over my own past was humbling.

Morning brought a refreshed Alexandre and the stoic Connor to the table where I was breaking my fast. They joined me and we ate in silence as Paris awoke outside, which I noticed peeked Connor's curiosity. I inquired as to whether he wanted to see the city and I must be honest, I was surprised he said yes. I did not think such a reserved man would want to partake in the bustle of the jewel of France, even though she did need much polishing and resetting after the Revolution soiled and bloodied her surface. Once we finished filling out stomachs, Alexandre and I gave Connor a tour of the city, but I could tell he was more interested in studying the layout than seeing the sites. He was visually rummaging the city, dissecting each corner, alleyway, and darkened doorway. Each enfeebled man drew his attention, but his gaze never tarried long, he knew; do not compromise the Brotherhood. He was rubbing the surface of a dusty coin searching for the face hidden underneath the grime, but we all seemed to know that only pure chance would have delivered our target to our sights. Unlike us, Templars did not hide in plain sight, but flaunt their presence like a peacock vying for the attention of a mate. They were the powerful, the socialites, the wealthy and the haves who used the have nots for their own gluttonous ends. I couldn't say for sure that I knew where to look, I had huddled too long within myself and the sunlight still burned my eyes, so familiar I had become with obscurity. Connor must have had faith in me though, since he sought me out before even speaking to any of my other Brothers or Sisters. The truth of it though was that he knew I would want to find this Shay character, but he hadn't been ready to tell me, not just yet. I did suspect at the time that he wasn't telling me the entire truth about why he wanted my help, but he had shown me his mentor's writings and Alexandre had confirmed the honesty of what they said, so I played my part and went along with this minor charade.

Our exploration of Paris ended as the lamplighters began their nightly ritual and I apologized that we did not see as much as I had wanted to show. Connor thanked me in his thoughtful tone and entered Le Café Theatre to take a meal along with Alexandre and myself, where we once again ate in silence. As we retreated from the lengthening shadows to our beds, Alexandre pulled me aside and inquired on Connor's behalf about seeking out La Seine on the morrow for Shay had once fancied himself a sailor. Although Paris was far from the sea, the grand river might be a good place to start. I concurred with the decision and made my way upstairs where I called for a bath to be drawn so that I might sleep easier and a fire lit to chase the chill from the air. The dulling effects of my previous intoxicating activities and then the labor of honing my blunt skills had begun to wear off and my mind began to remember that which I was not ready to yet face. I could still see her face when I closed my eyes and smell the light perfume of her hair. The breeze that floated through the open doors of my balcony, carried her voice speaking my name. The weight of her lips pressing against mine and the aftertaste of her mouth, caused my own to water with anticipation. A moth drawn to the flames of my fire, flew past my ear in a flutter carrying the light touch of her fingers and her whispered desires. I instantly pulled myself up, sloshing water in the basin and spilling some onto the rugs, breaking the chain of memories. I silently chastised my nomadic mind for traveling to where I was not ready to revisit and rested my head on my knees, so heavy were they flashbacks; so real. A rap at my door and a question if I was in need of anything, startled me into the present. I cleared my throat not realizing how choked it had become from my reminiscing and stated that I was fine. I exhaled in relief when the clicking footsteps receded, thankful to be alone. I almost pondered sneaking downstairs to the larder and pilfering some wine for the urge to forget at that moment was so strong and debilitating, but then the recollection of when we met there, when I convinced her to seek the assistance of the Brotherhood…no I did not want to be isolated in that room with her memory to haunt me.

The morning brought little solace considering I did not sleep well the night before. Upon seeing me, Alexandre immediately questioned my health and even the resigned Connor looked concerned. I assured them that my sleep had been troubled but I was otherwise sound in body and mind. Content with my answer, I led the way to La Seine. I had toured the river banks numerous times before and I knew the twisting tunnels and filth infested tributaries probably better than I should have and then realized that Connor was right about me, I did know where the shadows liked to hide. The impoverished huddled amidst their meagerness and eyed the three of us with distrust and distain but otherwise kept to themselves. The workers that were loading or unloading cargo from barges ignored us, the bustle of their occupation keeping them busy, yet I still felt eyes upon us. Three men dressed in similar garb probably did seem suspicious to the discerning eye so I suggested we split up; I would stay near the river while Connor and Alexandre tailed me from the street above. Upon agreement, we went our separate ways. I picked my way through the human refuse while occasionally pausing nonchalantly to ensure I was still being followed by my Brothers. The Revolution had torn France apart and its ripped seams were more visible here than I would have thought; Versailles had been ransacked but Paris had been raped. The river was pregnant with garbage and urchins fought amongst the waste as though it were gold. They gave me a wide berth, but were otherwise of little threat. The stench birthed from the slime swimming on the surface of the water and masses using the merger shoreline as a toilet, wash basin, and garbage depository made the tanneries and slaughter house seem like fields of flowers. It made sense for someone not wanting to be found to lurk here, but Shay was a Templar, would he not want to be among his own…unless he had abandoned the life altogether. No, he was an Assassin traitor and coming here after Monsieur De La Serre's murder would make sense, it was a safe harbor for turncoats and he would have been right at home. My thoughts had left me vulnerable and movement to my right and down a tunnel caught my eye a moment too late as I was engulfed in what I originally thought was a smoke bomb, but quickly learned was some kind of noxious gas that left me gagging. Alexander and Connor came quickly to my aid as I tried to follow my assailant, but further poisonous attacks left us empty handed and gasping for fresh air. As I tried to scan through the noxious clouds, I realized our attacker could not be who we sought unless Shay had suddenly become a young man. I wanted to begin the chase, but was halted by Connor, who threw his arm out in front of me. Angry, I wanted to lash out at him verbally, but he wasn't even looking at me, he was studying the gaping maw of the tunnel that opened up in front of us. His caution gave me pause and using the vision I saw why; men were lined up against the walls waiting…it was a trap. I hastily reached for a smoke bomb but once again was hindered by Connor, who snuck toward the first person who was pressed against the wall ready to pounce and skillfully yanked him out into our midst and poised over him, blade to his throat. Alexandre translated to the waif, who was barely a man dressed in ill-fitting mismatched garments. He was terrified and promptly soiled himself as he sputtered a response through chapped, cracked lips and broken yellowed rotting teeth. The snap of Connor retracting his blade caused the young man to jump and he stumbled upon his own legs, tripping before actually getting his footing when he was released. He looked behind several times as he ran holding up his fouled trousers. Alexandre stated with disgust that the youth had been paid to stand there as had the one who threw the poison gas and the others lying in wait inside the tunnel. He had said a stranger had done the monetary exchange, but that it was a woman who had been dressed a prostitute. I was curious as to whether this woman was actually a one of such profession or if it was just diversion. I suggested we visit some of the brothels and was mildly surprised to see a look of shock on Connor's face once Alexandre had relayed by proposal. The expression was gone as quickly as it had appeared and I led the way to some of the houses of ill repute.

I felt so out of place visiting a den of vice, as though I wasn't allowed to be there. Not because I felt I was above such desires, I can assure you that I was not, but it seemed that I shouldn't be permitted to have those yearnings anymore. Losing Elise had left me vacant, as though her death had carved every emotion from my heart with a dull, rusted metal spoon. It left a weeping scar that seeped an infection that poisoned my libido into stagnation. I had also grown bitter and distrustful; it took a great effort for me to care about finding Shay and to continue along this course of his pursuit. I didn't truly care much about Assassins versus Templars anymore, the whole feud seemed so insignificant with no end in sight. Why did it even matter that I was an Assassin, they had done well enough without me and so many people would still be alive had I never become one. I had pondered at one point leaving France and all of those retched memories behind, but then I had been reminded that corruption was voraciously feeding like a parasite off of an already wounded country and that I had the abilities and the tools to cut it prematurely from the bloated, inflamed womb of the France it has so easily raped.

We were welcomed with coy smiles and delicate honeyed words upon arriving at every brothel we visited. The courtesans flittered around us like elegant petals carried by a gentle breeze. Their overly painted faces and heavily perfumed bodies were drawn to us like bees fighting over which flower to pollenate. Yet once we had stated our intentions they skittered away like roaches when exposed to light. They dropped their pleasant disguises and discarded their smiling masks and returned to lounging seductively on mismatched settees and tattered divans. The women began to all look the same; weary and haggard with wrinkled and pockmarked visages overly powered and rouged. I began to think we were looking in the wrong place, not necessarily the incorrect profession but the wrong establishment. We needed to go where the high class courtiers were serviced.

Those buildings were a bit harder to locate since they lacked the scantily clad women reclining invitingly outside paint chipped doorways and balconies. The women we were searching for were more refined and were well versed in carnal knowledge. They were living works of art; beautiful sculptures of their fair sex, draped in the finery befit of their proficiency in fornication. They were elegant, discrete, and lavish, perfumed with money and wreathed in splendor. I knew that to locate and gain entry to such an establishment would require the three of us to cast ourselves in a play of sorts, which led us back to my residence at Le Café Theatre. Living above a theatre did have its advantages, especially when you needed to change your façade in a pinch. I had full access to a storeroom full of wardrobes, which was fortunate for Connor, since he was much more muscular than me and would never have fit in my other suits. I also had to convince him to act as a bodyguard, first because of his size and second because of his known unknown; he did not speak a word of French. I scrutinized his reception of my idea as Alexandre translated and worried as he might interpret the scheme in a negative way. I added that he would not be seen as a servant, but that by acting as my bodyguard he would elevate my status to the flesh peddlers to gain easier access to the bordello. He acquiesced with a brief nod and a salty glare. We stepped out in the dusk, no longer garbed as Assassins, but as men with a single purpose, I in my finest and gaudiest suit, Alexandre in more appropriate muted attire of an attendant, and lastly Connor; garbed as one with an aura of unspoken threats and dangerous intentions. With our hidden blades secure and tested that they did not snag on the sleeves of our new apparel, I made one last inspection of the three of us. I tugged delicately at the layers of fine lace tickling my wrists and the tightness of vine embroidered cravat against my throat. The plush velvet of my suit was sweltering and thankfully the deep plum hue hid any sweat that I knew was already soaking through the rich fabric. Alexandre stepped forward to ensure all of my Celtic knotted buttons gleamed and that the gold plating encircling them was more visible around the impeccable stitched button holes. I gave him a quick glance and nodded in approval at his dour livery uniform and winced internally at the memory of the La Serre's butler, Olivier. That was another time and another life that I no longer belonged to and I quickly squashed any further thoughts. We both turned to Connor to audit his accoutrements and I was startled at the brute strength that seemed to ooze off of him. He was dressed the most simply of the three of us with merely dark trousers, accompanied by white stockings and heavy workman's boots, but the tight shirt and vest with rolled up sleeves emphasized his brawny magnitude. Alexandre turned to me with a sly look of accomplishment and I nodded in praise. I advised Alexandre to counsel Connor not to speak a word, even to either of us unless our cover was blown since I was going to explain, only if inquired upon, that Connor was a mute and hired only for his strong physical makeup. Which, I added silently to myself, would most definitely be requisite should our ruse be discovered. Not from the women of course, but from their own security. I explained to Alexandre that I would need to talk down to him in a way that would be chastising and embarrassing, I had to be convincing as a spoiled rotten bourgeois aristocrat. He seemed slightly hurt at my honesty as he lowered his head in slight defeat and I wasn't sure if he was acting or not. I clasped his shoulder and assured him this would be a success.

I rented a black carriage in which I rode inside and Connor and Alexandre drove. I found myself in a dispute with my chafing cravat as I reconciled with the stifling heat of the modestly cushioned coach. The frilled curtains gave little respite from the heat guzzling wagon I was being transported within. Thankfully, our trip was not a long one and I quickly exited the carriage once Alexandre had opened the door and pretended to help me step out. Night was already beginning to embrace the city, but did little to ease the discomfort in my camouflage. My companions did not seem to notice the slow poisoning effect my outfit had on my countenance but having Alexandre led the ease our way through the flesh starved upper crust that buzzed around the dainty wooden building, did at least alleviate my symptoms to an extent. Connor's looming shadow gave the door guard pause, from which he quickly recovered when I snapped my fingers in his face and pointed harshly at the closed door. He apologized profusely as Alexandre shoved him out of the way to allow me entry first.

The entry hallway was furnished in long flowing drapes that acted as curtains modestly veiling side rooms and parlors. They were trimmed with petite rows of banded tassels and dangled in the air like tiny bells. Glided mirrors lined the hallway as did monstrous hand painted vases overflowing with flowers exploding in various degrees of bloom. Their perfume, while most likely not meant to be overpowering, caused my breathing to be uncomfortable. I ignored the discomfort, but as soon as Alexandre was gripping my arm I realized it was too late as the swirling colors of the room spun into darkness.

The tug of my cravat and several feminine voices brought me around as I realized I was reclined on a lavish divan surrounded by several paramour worthy women. One of them called for water as another loosened the fabric encircling my neck in order for me to breathe easier. I tried to shrug them off, feeling awkward in their presence. I was no longer able to harmonize in a world where anything related to intercourse existed. I felt stifled by their ample bosoms protruding prominently from the tight corsets of their bulky silk gowns. The hushing sound of the rich fabric was deafening along with their low sultry voices. Their gravity defying wigs and perfect porcelain skin meant to allure only further sickened me, giving my frazzled mind the image of comical clowns, which of course is the furthest I believe you can get from captivating. I desperately sought Alexandre and Connor as one of the women seeing my anxiety build tried to calm me with soothing words and sedative caresses. As her hand stroked my sweat-dampened chest she remarked on how quickly my heart was pounding and asked in a sensual tone if I needed more private tending to. I realized at that moment, or so I had thought, that my suit choice had been a poor one. I struggled to gain a sitting position, noticing I was alone in the room with them. Upon gaining the use of my voice, I inquired after my companions, who I learned were elsewhere in the building. I suddenly came to the realization that I had inadvertently given Connor and Alexandre the perfect opportunity to search the brothel and locate the woman we had gone there to seek. While my achievement for assisting my co-conspirators was a success, it was not even remotely what I had intended. The women continued to dance around me like marionettes and my panic attack continued to debilitate me; I honestly felt like a virgin in that den of iniquity with fully aroused lionesses licking their chops voraciously. I was being suffocated by the weight of their intentions and was finally unburdened when the curtain was brushed aside and Alexandre rushed into the room babbling about my health and taking me to a physician while apologizing profusely to the gracious hosts for looking after me while he sought smelling salts and cold compresses. He bowed and kissed each lady's proffered gloved hand and again expressed gratitude for caring for his beloved master. It was not a bother they stated, smiling sensually behind elaborately hand painted fans. The palpitating movement was dizzying and I gripped Alexandre's outstretched arm frantically; I needed fresh air and to get away from those hypnotizing women. Connor waited by the open door and the two of them ushered me into our awaiting carriage and back to the Assassin Den.

I spent the next several hours under the supervision of the Assassin medic who advised me to bathe in an ice bath and drink plenty of fluids. Afterwards I rested in my bed at La Café Theatre, while he checked my person for fever and determined that the heat combined with my poor choice in dress had been my undoing. He left me to my respite, speaking to someone before leaving my room. Alexandre stepped into my view with an expression pregnant with excitement. He asked if I was feeling better and I barely was able to utter a reply before he exploded with words. He said that he had thought my fainting spell was planned since it worked out perfectly for himself and Connor, much as I previously assumed. I assured him that it certainly had not been, but he must have discovered something while I was in the capable hands of several ladies of the night. I had not intended my words to be scolding, but my fatigue had stripped me of a filter and Alexandre stood a little straighter and apologized, "Master." He went on further to explain that he and Connor had found a letter addressed to a Delfina, who resided at the brothel; which contained vague mention of taking her to meet another lovely lady named Morrigan if she should fulfill the simple task of imparting several "gifts" on some very old "friends" that were not entirely welcome. Alexandre explained that Morrigan was the name a ship Shay once sailed on according to the memoirs of Connor's mentor. I interrupted Alexandre and asked him if Connor would allow me to study this tome we had been blindly obeying as though it were some holy relic. If it was indeed some kind of map to find Shay, I wished to see where we might go next, with Alexandre's help of course since my knowledge of English was poor. He retreated from the room and returned much sooner than I expected with Connor in tow. The Native apparently did not want the book out of his sight for long, which I understood, noting my small table decorated with letters from Elise, always in sight no matter where one stood in the room. Dragging a chair near my bedside, Alexandre began to skim through the disheveled diary, as Connor hovered protectively behind him.

The feeble yellowed pages read more like ledger, with its dates and names, little personality of its previous owner remained, unless of course that was what was intended. I was barely a young man when Achilles Davenport died, my memories of that time filled with a naive happiness of Elise and her father and whispers of the victory occurring so far away across the ocean. The names I came to learn were of my brethren and the dates, their short lives. Shay had killed them all. Achilles wrote at length, one of his few personal entries, about how it seemed impossible for one so devoid of discipline to be a skilled Assassin and an even more proficient traitor. Shay had been so blind; blaming Achilles for catastrophic events and in turn Achilles blamed himself, for sending someone who clearly did not understand Precursor artifacts to collect them; he had dumped an infant who barely knew how to walk into the path of a raging bull. For someone who favored a silly catch phrase of making his own luck, he fell into the very arms of those who would rob him of that and any and all free will he thought he might have had. It did not take me long to conclude how much of a fool Shay had been. He did not understand the tenants of our Creed, which I could relate to for I had used them in error myself. I too had misunderstood their meaning, believing those words gave me the freedom to do as I wished. Yet, where I had learned and grew from my misconceptions, Shay had fled like a child frightened of thunder into the arms of those who would protect but also control him. When Alexandre began deciphering entries Shay's travels to France, my memory induced trance was broken and it was as though a cord was being unraveled revealing a single thread beginning in America and ending with me. It read like my resume for an application to the Assassins. I flung the bedclothes off myself as though they were on fire and seized the journal, nearly tearing out several pages in the process. Connor rushed forward yelling and Alexandre was barely able to hold him back as I vaulted over the bed toward door and then out onto the balcony. How I had wished I knew English, as the two men warily approached me. I threw the book at Connor and as he bent to pick it up and brought my person right in front of his and spat that he knew the whole time and never spoke a word. His eyes burned like smoldering coals and Alexandre hastily stepped between us and spoke nervously to Connor, who proceeded to shove the book so hard into my chest I nearly lost my footing. He withdrew from the balcony and I could hear him stomping downstairs. I paced the balcony clutching the diary as the world seemed to spin around me; Shay had killed my father; a Templar had murdered my father. I was reminded of Elise's wish for the gap between our respective sides to be bridged, but I held in my hands the very flame to torch that completely to the ground and I so desperately wanted to fan those fires. Alexandre watched me apprehensively as I stalked trying desperately to control my thoughts. Alexandre began to tell me that yes Connor had known but did not want to tell me in fear that I would rush into some kind of Templar trap, ruining our chance to find Shay. Connor knew about brashness, how urgency can ruin carefully laid plans. He needed an Arno with a clear head, with a firm purpose in mind not financed solely by revenge. Connor had wanted my help because he knew that I would help, but not just in assassinating Shay, but he had something that belonged to the Assassins; a Precursor box.

After I had pacified my emotions, albeit temporarily, and dressed, I found Connor commanding a corner of the theatre, tending to a cup of tea. He glared at me harshly and continued to do so even after I sat down at the table with him. Alexandre joined us and spoke a lengthy conversation with Connor, in which my name was mentioned several times. I had hoped that Alexandre apologized on my behalf and pleaded with Connor to allow me to aid him in his endeavor. He stood when the exchange ended and extended his hand to me, when we shook on the matter he called me Brother in my own tongue and withdrew for the night.

For the next several days I spent hours researching the Precursor box in the Den's library and how many countries it had visited, including China and Italy, before calling France home. Alexandre fed me more details of the box and gave me history lessons of our Brothers in America, through Connor. It pained me to learn it took a Revolution to bring the American Templars to their knees and another to allow them to rise from the ashes like a phoenix, here in my own home. It did not surprise me then to learn that Shay could still be lingering in France, most likely harboring with the Delfina women that Alexandre and Connor had discovered at the brothel. She could be a Templar or perhaps just an acquaintance of the Order, but there was no way to return to the whorehouse the way we had gone before. Alexandre proposed involving more of our Brothers, but I snuffed the idea; I did not see them troubling themselves with an elderly Templar who was no threat to us who may or may not still have the box in his possession. We needed to first discover if Shay still had the box and from there, formulate a plan to free it from his possession and to free him of his life. Connor recommended to follow her and see if she associated with any known Templars, which was as good a place to start as any.

Delfina was not an easy target to unearth, let alone follow. After numerous days of surveillance we discovered that she had an exclusive clientele that included various political heads and members of the upper crust of France's new society, who had personal security making it difficult, but not impossible to track her. It was evident why she had been sought after by Shay, her access to powerful men was unlimited. I wondered if Shay was playing rogue or working with his Order to rebuild after I had killed Germain; the Templars had been quiet for some time so it was possible. Delfina's route began and ended at the brothel each day, but where she went in between was what interested us. One day it was a confidential meeting with a married politician, the next a rendezvous with an up and coming artist, and once a week with a flawless efficiency, she waltzed into shoe boutique. Upon the second week of her visit to the shop, I realized she wasn't purchasing anything. Alexandre claimed that the shop owner appeared to know her quite well, well enough that Delfina was allowed private entrance to the back rooms of the establishment. It only took a quick use of the vision to see that there were several individuals not only in the back room of the boutique but in the basement of it as well. We waited until nightfall to trespass and penetrated the building without difficulty. Whoever lingered in the basement was still there when we arrived, but it was not how I expected it to play out.

Delfina was indeed there, hovering protectively over the shrunken shell of a man in a filthy cot. She shrieked in fury when she saw us and drew a knife from her bodice. As she rose to strike me, I twisted her wrist forcing her to release the weapon and shoved her aside, perhaps too harshly. I heard Alexandre restraining her as she hurled profanities in my direction, but my attention was on the man in laying helpless in front of me. I demanded to know if he was Shay Cormac and I so desperately wanted to interrogate him, but Connor stopped me. He sat on the cot and began to question the elderly man, who called him Connor; the man knew who he was. Connor's expression grew grim and I could see the tension building in his jaw, but he stayed his blade. After the brief exchange he turned to me and shook his head and I heard Alexandre behind me state that the man had given the box to the dead. What on earth was that supposed to even mean? Delfina began to grow furious behind me and squeal about leaving her father alone. Father? Did she presume to play upon my sympathies? This man admitted to having once owned the Precursor box and knew who Connor was; this was indeed Shay, the man who had murdered my father along with numerous other Assassins. The fury had taken control of me and I whirled to slap her across the face. I screamed, spittle flying in her bruised and now bloodied face; Shay had murdered my father, betrayed and massacred my brethren, every grievance, every death I had suffered was because of him. As Connor gained control of me faster than I could myself, the rattled wet voice spoke from the bed. He whispered that I would never have known her. My dear Elise; exhuming her memory, using her in death did not postpone my blade from its purpose. I relaxed enough that Connor released me and turned away from the whimpering and terrified Delfina, who clutched Alexandre in fear, and approached the cot. Shay stared at me without concern and I hissed that I would rather have never known her than mourn her every day. It was then that I took his life because it was mine by every right to take. I stabbed with such vehemence and malevolence that my blade carved clean through his papery flesh through his neck into the pillow his head rested upon. I leaned close, to listen as his breath failed him, as the life hemorrhaged into the bedclothes he now soiled. I told him as I felt my blade grind against his spine, to fuck his luck. No one would lay flowers for him, because the sun would never reach the bottom of La Seine. And then he was gone and I had no more words to impart. I released my blade from his corpse and wiped it clean across the coverlet. Delfina's weeping spilled onto uncaring ears as Alexandre looked upon me in shock, Connor merely nodded once. He didn't appear to approve or disapprove to my uncharacteristic violence, but he understood. I unceremoniously bundled the traitor and carried his body out of the building and with a short walk ahead of me, I flung his body into the river. The only sound was the sheets flapping in the breeze and the splash as his carcass met the water. The box and my Brothers momentarily forgotten, I made my way through the slumbering city to my apartments. I released my watch; my father's watch, from my inside coat pocket and glanced upon its cracked face and whispered that I avenged him and apologized that it had taken me so long. I woke the valet and instructed him to have a bath drawn, my night had been exhausting; mentally and physically. After washing the lateness from myself as well as the blood, I slept.

The next morning, Connor and Alexandre found me dining and joined in breaking of my fast. Alexandre seemed apprehensive while Connor remained his stoic self. Connor would be returning to America later in the afternoon, satisfied that Shay at least had been dealt with even though the box still eluded us. I had forgotten about the box. I asked Alexandre and Connor to accompany me to Elise's grave before we parted, I wanted them to meet her. Armed with a bouquet, I led them through Versailles to her resting place and knelt before the massive stone. Shay had been somewhat correct; I would never have known her, mourned her, or loved her if not for his treacherous actions. I swept the years from atop her gravestone and noticed the earth disturbed behind it. As I dug frantically, wondering who would have disturbed her slumber, I discovered a box, THE box, just as Shay said, buried with the dead.


End file.
